


The Deep End of the Ocean

by OnTheTurningAway



Series: Mating Games - 2014 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Flash Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheTurningAway/pseuds/OnTheTurningAway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The emptiness Chris feels seems limitless. Sharp and vast and immeasurable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deep End of the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bonus Challenge #2 at [Mating Games](http://mating-games.livejournal.com/), the Teen Wolf flash porn challenge, for the prompt **Sleepover**.
> 
> Please mind the tags and read with care.

Chris is surprised to hear a knock at the door so late in the evening. With Isaac in France with the Argents, Chris has gotten used to spending all of his time alone. It's his new normal, after all.

He swirls his drink in the lamplight, watching as the amber liquid leaves trails up the side of the glass. What's left of the ice clinks together quietly as he clumsily sets the glass down. He rubs his face, surprised at the amount of scruff, and realizes he has no idea when he shaved last.

The knocking becomes more persistent.

Chris slowly makes his way to the door. The apartment is not excessively large, but tonight, alone, Chris thinks it feels cavernous. He expects to see the sheriff, a neighbor, or maybe even Melissa, who had invited him over and brought him care packages right after…

It's how he marks time now. _Before_ was fraught with danger and filled with loss, but _after_. Chris hasn't been able to put _after_ into words, yet. Isn't sure he'll ever be able to. The emptiness he feels seems limitless. Sharp and vast and immeasurable.

He's shocked to see Lydia Martin on his doorstep, or at least someone who resembles the girl who was the only constant in Allison's life since Chris had packed up his family and moved to Beacon Hills. 

This girl, though, is entirely unkempt, hair carelessly looped in a messy bun, wearing mismatched sweats. Her make-up is smudged, like she's been wearing it since the day before, and dark circles are clearly visible under her eyes, even in the dim light.

Her eyes are empty, flat and lifeless, and a mirror image of his own.

"Lydia." Chris' voice cracks. It's gravelly from scotch and lack of use. "It's not a good time."

She says nothing, just purses dry lips and pushes past Chris and walks down the hallway.

Chris wants to call out to her, to tell her to stop, to leave. She can't go in there. No one has—not Chris, not Isaac, not any of the people who have come by, offering help. Chris always thinks the same of these offers, though he knows they're made with the best intentions. What could anyone possibly do to _help_ him? There's nothing that can be done to right what happened to Allison. 

Lydia pauses in front of the door to Allison's room, hand shaking inches from the doorknob, and Chris can see her trying to find strength to turn the handle.

He knows the feeling well; he hasn't even touched the door yet himself.

Lydia has always been strong, even more so now that she's become aware of her abilities. Chris watches her square her shoulders and twist the knob. She takes a deep breath, then pushes the door open. 

Time stops. It feels that way at least. 

Then Lydia is crossing the forbidden threshold and Chris feels himself following her, despite the fact that his feet feel like they're encased in lead. He braces himself on the door frame and watches Lydia walk around the room, dragging fingertips over dusty furniture and clothes strewn carelessly on the bed.

She sinks down onto the mattress, laying her head on Allison's heap of pillows, and just breathes. He can hear her begin to cry softly, and he watches her for long minutes. By the time she's choking back sobs, Lydia is curled up in a ball, clutching Allison's pillow to her face. 

Chris envies her.

He knows he was not always the father he could have been, but something instinctual makes him take a few more steps forward. He's surprised to make it to the edge of the bed but is hesitant to take another step. But then Lydia takes his hand, pulls him down onto the mattress. 

It feels like the easiest thing in the world to sit on the edge of the bed and pull the covers up over this girl's shoulders, now that they've made contact. He tries to comfort her and runs a hand through her hair as she cries, silently sharing her grief.

He doesn't know how long he sits with her. At some point, he moves to the nearby chair and dozes off. When he wakes to the morning light, the blanket that once rested on the end of Allison's bed is draped over him.

Lydia is gone and the bed is properly made once again, but the emptiness surrounding Chris' heart feels just a tiny bit smaller, and he knows he'll see her again.


End file.
